


Imposing as the Standard-Bearer of the Army

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fantasy elements, Witch!Lydia, reference to canonical suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin runs a company that fuses magic and construction work. The success makes her the fastest social climber of Beacon Hills. She even earns an invite to the annual fundraiser of the Daughters of Diana. She goes in to expand her network, she comes out winning the service of Allison Argent.</p><p>Allison Argent assumes it's a protection job. Well, she's not wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is borrowed from the Song of Songs.
> 
> With gratitude for my darling friend Fightyourdragon for beta'ing, US-picking, and generally improving the story. General appreciative noises towards the sweethearts in the Root Cellar for fun, good cheer and word wars.
> 
> Remaining faults are my own.

Lydia thinks that probably the best thing to come from growing Martin Incorporated into a company with employees is that you don’t have to do everything yourself. It allows you to do the things you do best, and set the rest up around you so that everyone does what he or she does best. So, every morning at ten in the morning, her personal assistant, Adrien, brings her the stack of mail sorted into professional requests and personal correspondence. This morning’s mail holds the regular: some bills, a new catalogue from a supplier for her professionally, a letter from her colleague Stiles Stilinski she puts on the side table to read in the evening. Last on the stack is an invitation Lydia had been hoping for, the annual spring equinox fundraiser for the Daughters of Diana. It’s one of the biggest social events in Beacon Hills, and this year is extra special. Most years, they auction off art works of their protégées, jewelry and wine, but this year is a seventh year, and then the the fundraiser also includes the auction of the service of ten of the Daughters for twenty-four hours. It has taken Lydia a lot of networking just to get an invitation. She even accepted a small job with for Susan Whittemore, even though she avoids Jackson’s family mostly since their break-up. She writes a note to the organisers she’ll attend, and one to her tailor to tell her that she’ll need a dress. She puts them on the corner of the table, where Adrien will pick them up and make sure they are delivered. That taken care of, she returns her attention to her work: Martin Incorporated specialises in a fusion of magic and regular construction work for anything from gravity defying designs to actual fireproofing on one memorable occasion. Her specialist combination of skills makes her one of the fastest rising social climbers in five counties.

 

Her dress arrives the day before the fundraiser, a figure-hugging burgundy velvet number, with a neckline just shy of indecent. She requested a pair of heels to go with it from her tailor, and she came through magnificently. So when the evening arrives, she puts on her dress, touches up her lipstick and her eyeliner and gets in the cab. There’s a cheque in her purse with a decent enough figure, but what she really wants out of the evening is business cards and introductions. Lydia looks over the list of expected guests and tries to figure out which table she should angle for. She arrives at the building, and pays the cab driver before admiring the place.

 

It is an old temple, but she can feel that it nulls magic -for obvious reasons: nobody is allowed to interfere magically with the auctions that will take place or with the introductions. That is another reason the Daughters’ socials are well attended: it leaves the non-magical people with a sense of security that they’re not tricked into things -at least not magically. The hallways is decorated with flowers and fairy lights. She enters the large hall where the heart of the party is. She surveys the room, and squares her shoulders before she enters with careful strides. She waves at Jackson who is in conversation with a guy she’s seen at the bank. He raises a hand. A server girl comes over to her with a tray full of drinks. She takes a glass of champagne and starts sipping as she wanders over to the reception hall. She looks for her friends Erica and Boyd, who were invited too. Erica sent her a note, promising to catch up tonight. Instead of Erica, she sees the most glorious woman she has ever laid eyes on standing on one of the pedestals. Statuesque, dark brown curls, radiating strength and wearing a knee-length tunic with a saffron finishing. Lydia does a double take. _She looks like Artemis incarnate_ , Lydia thinks to herself, as she realises she is staring. Then she realises what the saffron means: this is one of the Daughters whose service is up for auction.

“Ms. Martin!” she startles when she hears her name. One of the bank managers waves at her. “Are you a regular here?”

“Not yet, but I intend to become one,” Lydia dazzles her best smile at him. “Are you a regular?”

“Yes. They took care of my sister’s scholarship.”

“May her blessing bloom,” Lydia answers automatically. The man grins sheepishly.

“She’s in med school now, training to be a surgeon.” Lydia nods vaguely approving, trying to figure out what to say next.

“Hey Lyds!” A familiar voice sounds in the hall. Lydia turns around, relieved to be saved from further conversation. “Erica!” She smiles. She nods at banker guy, “Excuse me”, and walks over to Erica to greet her.

“Erica, how are you?” she greets her friend as she hugs her.

“Fine, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Lydia waves a server over, “Champagne for my friend, please” she waves imperiously. The man turns on his heels.

“So, Erica, seeing anything you like?” She tries for a light tone.

“Like? Yes. Afford? No way. We need the kind of money you’d need here for the business. We’re planning an expansion.”

“Exciting! Are you branching out from engineering to other fields or are you looking for another city to expand your business?” She had known Boyd’s engineering business was doing well. Erica is an accountant, and does her books too. “Hey, did you hear back from the Hales?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Hale got in touch with me just last week. Wait, did you...?”

“Oh, Mrs. Hale mentioned a problem with one of her accountants, and I told her I personally have a good one who I know to be reliable.”

Erica preens. “I appreciate that, they’re a big deal.”

“I guess you’ll be on the lookout for another bright soul to help your side of the business expand too?”

“First Boyd’s expansion though, because settling in a new town isn’t all that easy. We’re looking at Willits.”

Lydia mentally flips through her contacts but cannot come up with another name. She shakes her head. “Can’t come up with anyone, but I’ll ask around if you’d like. Anything you need in particular?”

“Who you’ll be bidding on so I can stay out of your way?” Erica grins.

“I don’t know. I think I’ll just do the regular donation,” Lydia shrugs.

“Lydia Martin, I know you can outthink most people while you’re half-asleep, but if you think I missed you looking at that woman just now, you are sorely mistaken. And by the way, nobody else missed it.”

Lydia purses her lips. “I need another drink.”

“I suggest you take something without alcohol, you’ll need your wits tonight, and maybe even your magic.”

Lydia shakes her head, but puts down the champagne. “The whole building is warded, so don’t fear on the magic front. It’s nice talking to you, but I’m going to need to shake some more hands,” she announces.

“See you later,” Erica says in parting.

“In a while,” Lydia sing-songs back, and they grin at each other.

 

She tells herself it’s scientific curiosity and nothing else when she goes over the auction catalogue. She flips the pages, looking at faces and skill sets. When she reaches page nine, she finally gets to put a name to the face. Allison. Skilled marksman -well markswoman, obviously - with guns as well as bow and arrows, listed as fluent three other languages, wilderness survival skills. It is clear that she is being suggested for body guard duty. And then at the end it says “trois mille joies”. That is odd for a Daughter of Diana, who generally abstain from sex -so why would any one of them study sexual practices in enough depth to warrant a mention in their bio? But before she can finish that thought, she spots Talia Hale who waves her over. When Talia Hale waves you over, you come.

“Miss Martin, I was hoping to see you here,” Talia says, extending her hand.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hale, lovely to see you too,” Lydia says shaking it.

“I wanted to thank you for mentioning Miss Reyes to me. We’re hiring her for the Beacon Hills division.”

“I’m sure she’ll do very well there. I’ve always been very glad of her advice.”

Talia Hale smiles beatifically. Lydia is not sure if that’s good news. “Are you planning to bid at the auction?” Talia asks.

“I’m still debating it,” Lydia admits. “There are a couple of interesting proposals on the table.” That earns her another smile.

“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Martin,” and with that Mrs. Hale wanders off. Lydia watches her go, drinking in every aspect of the way she radiates power and femininity. Lydia studies her carefully, because in twelve years she wants to be her, maybe sooner. Her revery is interrupted by the bells that announce the imminent start of the auction. She gets herself an auction number. She already decided to make a donation, she tells herself. Might as well check out what is on auction. The first Daughter is a seamstress. The second one is a doctor. Third up is a computer scientist. And then comes Allison. All Daughters of Diana are dressed in a similar tunic with saffron accents. Allison is wearing one that reaches her knees. Lydia almost too distracted by the long legs to notice the quiver full of arrows. The auctioneer hands her a crossbow.

“It is with great pleasure I announce... Allison. She is number nine in the catalogue.”

A stage hand hands her over a bow. She takes the bow, weighs it carefully in her hand for a second and without flinching, without hesitation, Allison shoots three arrows into three targets that were hidden in the hall. Lydia feels her mouth go dry at the display of competence. She wants this woman in any capacity she can have her.

“Allison is a competent marksman with crossbow and most guns and rifles,” the speaker continues. “A all-round trained survivalist and skilled in combat.”

“Makes you wonder what they were training her for,” the man next to her mutters. Lydia doesn’t fully register the muttering. Instead she’s staring intently at Allison who is standing in a soldier’s parade rest, her face carefully blank.

“A hundred!”

She identifies the first speaker as Scott McCall, a high school classmate.

“A hundred and twenty-five,” a second man. After a second she recognises Isaac Lahey, who was on the lacrosse team with Scott. She just raises her placard. Scott looks over at Lahey, who smirks at him. _They can always console each other_ , she thinks to herself.

“One hundred and fifty!” Lahey again. She raises her placard.

The auctioneer nods at her and echoes:“One seventy-five!”.

Another member in the audience starts to recognise that Allison might be an interesting find. The price rises from two hundred and fifty, to three hundred and fifty.

“Five hundred,” another dark haired woman in the audience. Allison looks surprised for a second, and then goes back to being inscrutable. _Who was that?_ Lydia wonders as she raises her placard. She will have Allison. It might cost her a bit more than she had planned to spend, but she will have her.

 

The price is eventually set at four thousand seven hundred and twenty-five dollars. Lydia is ushered to a smaller room, where they take her details so they can send over the paperwork.

“Can we arrange the first appointment in short order?” she asks.

“Of course,” the coordinator says, “What did you have in mind?”

“Mitsommer,” she says immediately.

“That isn´t for three months!” The coordinator seems surprised at her insistence to arrange things swiftly. “You will need to arrange for a place to stay for her.”

“Of course. There will be a bedroom and a private bathroom,” Lydia agrees coolly.

“The paperwork will be delivered tomorrow morning,” the man says. “When you’ve signed and returned everything, we’ll arrange the details.”

Lydia resigns herself to waiting and bites out a “fine,” and turns on her heels. She mingles at the party a little, hoping to catch another glimpse of Allison. She leaves for home a little earlier than she had intended.

 

Back home she showers and puts on a nightgown. In her bedroom, she opens the windows to let some of the cool evening air in. She walks back to her bed and throws her gown over the foot end of the bed. She lies down on her bed, feeling her nipples harden. She ignores it for the moment, spreading her knees to enjoy the cool air flow over her body. She pleasures herself, imagining dark brown hair bobbing over her mons. She sleeps peacefully after that.

 

Lydia spends the morning burying herself in work, telling Adrien she wants to be left alone to work on a design for a client that requires a double foundation: one in concrete, the other aetheral. At eleven, her assistant knocks on the door anyway.

“Adrien, I requested to be left in peace before lunch.” She knows her tone is snappish, but sometimes that is what the situation requires.

“Someone to see you, Miss Martin.”

“New clients need an appointment, everyone else you can deal with.”

“It’s Allison, Miss,” Adrien says sheepishly.

“Oh.” Lydia feels her knee go wobbly. She looks at her rather simple outfit, her heels the only thing that resemble professional attire. “Well, show her in, then.”

“Okay.”

Adrien turns around. Lydia hurries to the nearest mirror to do up her hair, and to see if there’s anything to be salvaged in her outfit. She has her cardigan and a tank top tangled in her hair when she hears a discreet cough. She hastens to pull down her top, spins around and almost tumbles over as she sees Allison in the door opening, obviously amused by the whole setup given the smile that teases at the corners of her lips. She holds a folder in her hand.

“My lady archer…” Lydia stammers uncharacteristically. “I apologise for the state you find me in. I was not expecting visitors.”

Allison looks her over for a heartbeat, but then her face closes up again and she curtesies. “Miss Martin, you have _nothing_ to apologise for.” Lydia feels there’s a hint of suggestiveness in there that goes straight to her groin. Allison scans the room.

“May I offer you a refreshment?” Slowly, Lydia’s brain comes back online, and with it her manners.

“Some water will be fine. I’m here with the paperwork for the contract.”

Lydia turns towards the door, “Adrien, a pitcher of water, please.” Allison seems to approve of her behavior towards the staff.

“Anything else to go with it?” Lydia offers, “I think we still have some honeycake.”

“I’m well taken care of, thank you.”

Adrien returns, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water, two classes, slices of lemon and a few stalks of rosemary, as well as two plates with a slice of honeycake. He puts it on the table, and Lydia dismisses him with a nod. He leaves the room wordlessly, and closes the door with careful emphasis. Lydia gestures at the glasses.

“Anything with your water?" she offers.

"Some lemon, please."

Lydia put a slice of lemon in both glasses, and pours the water on it.

“Take a spot,” she suggest as she is pouring.

“I’m okay. I need to scope out the place anyway.”

Lydia hands her a glass. Allison hands her the folder.

“The contract paperwork,” she adds. “Though you knew that.”

“I wasn’t expecting you’d bring it,” Lydia says with an inviting smile, giving Allison another once-over. She doesn’t bother being subtle about it. She opens the folder, and recognises the header of the Daughters of Diana. It promises a standard contract.

“I figured I’d scope the place,” Allison repeats.

“What do you mean by that?” Lydia squints.

“I supposed you’d need some kind of protection during a specific ritual at Mitsommer?” Allison says. “And since I’m an archer and a Daughter, that seemed logical.”

Lydia breaks in a smile. “You think I’m in need of protection?”

“You’re a wealthy woman,” Allison says matter-of-factly. “The Martin corporation does well.”

Something clicks in Lydia’s mind. “You’re an Argent girl!”

Allison’s face closes into a mask. “Not anymore.”

“I’ve given offence. I apologise.”

“I accept.”

“Will this alter the terms of the arrangement?”

“I have accepted the arrangement.” All humor has left Allison’s face. Lydia really wants to see that spark return to her eyes, and the dimples in her cheeks.

“You assume I need protection. How would you go about it?” Lydia asks, since nothing restores her own moods faster than talking about her craft.

“In here?” Allison looks around, taking in the large windows overlooking the road. “Only one door, that means only one way to get in - also only one way to get out. Unless you count the windows, since we are on the ground floor. I’d want to avoid that if at all possible, risk of injury.” She takes a sip of water. “Access via the corridor might be a issue since I don’t know if there’s a back entrance to the building. Access runs both ways: what goes in can come out. If you have one person for two entrance points, it’s a risk.” Lydia is pleased to see Allison’s mind working behind her eyes. And to stare into those hazel eyes some more. Allison composes herself: “You should probably read that,” pointing at the paperwork.

“Hmmm. Yes, I suppose.”

Lydia returns her attention to the file which contains standard clauses, the requirement to provide the Daughter with appropriate housing, food, the requirement to provide the required tool or pay an additional fee for tools. Lydia nods and says, “This all seems in order.”

“Paraphs at the end of each page, signature on the final page,” Allison says.

Lydia starts doing as requested when everything goes to hell. The windows are smashed in, and two men come crashing in right after.

“Nobody move!” The one on the left yells as Allison lightening-quick grabs the first thing she can find -the pitcher. She throws the water into the first guys’ face, and the pitcher at the second. She grabs two plates, grabs Lydia from her chair and shoves her out of the room, shielding her with her body. “Back exit?” she whispers at Lydia. Lydia nods. Allison gestures at her to start moving. She aims the plates and the cake at the attackers’ chests to slow them down and sets off after Lydia. Lydia mutters a curse at the door that locks it.

“Lose the shoes,” Allison hisses, “and pray none of the attackers know about the back exit.” Lydia kicks off her heels and runs on, not even noticing that Allison picks them up before setting after her. Lydia’s heart is still beating in her throat as she leads them to a door that opens to a small path between the walls that separate the gardens that belong to the individual houses. The path takes them to the street. Allison grabs Lydia´s hand and stops them. She hands over the shoes, and leans in to whisper instructions as Lydia takes the hint and puts them on again.

“Okay, we walk calmly, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. I’m taking us to a safe house. We can figure out our next move.”

Lydia nods, still shaken with shock at two men breaking into her house. Allison flags a cab. She mentions an address that Lydia doesn’t catch, and when the cab driver nods in understanding, Allison shoves Lydia into the cab, and scrambles in after her. Allison hands over two ten dollar bills to the driver, who holds them against the light, probably to establish their validity.

“Now is better,” Allison snarls at driver.

The man shoots her a dirty look, puts the money in the glove compartment, and turns on the signal to start driving. Lydia looks out the windows the whole route, trying to figure out where they are going. They leave the city center eastbound, passing ever smaller houses, and less and less color almost by the minute. Lydia estimates they’ve been driving about twenty minutes, when the driver parks the car in front of a non-descript building. Allison gets out and Lydia follows her. The driver takes off, and Allison waits for a moment, as if to check something. Apparently reassured, she raps on the door. When there is no answer, she takes a keyring from her pocket, and takes out a lockpick. She opens the door in seconds and lets Lydia in.


	2. Chapter 2

The house is dark, and smells a little mouldy. Allison brushes past her in the narrow corridor, and leads the way upstairs. Lydia follows after her, suddenly wondering why she trusts Allison with all of this. _For all I know, this could still all be a trap_ , she realises as panic hits her. On the landing, Allison opens the door to the right, and steps inside. Lydia stays rooted on the spot. She can hear Allison rummage in a drawer, strike a match and close the curtains, but she can’t bring herself to move.

“Lydia?” Allison calls out. She walks back into the landing and sees Lydia absolutely petrified. She slides her arm around Lydia’s neck and kisses her. Lydia makes a startled noise, and melts into it, opening her lips to welcome a deepening. Allison does the opposite, and lets her go, turns around as if she did not just rock Lydia’s world in a few seconds for the second time that day.

“I’ve closed the curtains, it’s safe to come inside the room now,” Allison says, leaning against the door. Lydia comes in, feeling mortified and aroused, but no longer panicking. She takes in the room: it’s not too small, but it has a small bed on one end, a desk against the wall with two chairs at the other and a couple of empty shelves.

“I’m sorry about that, but I thought you were panicking.” Allison does not sound sorry at all. “Kissing changes your breathing patterns, effectively halting a panic attack.”

Lydia blinks, trying to come up with something clever, but all that comes out of her mouth is, “That was okay.”

Allison’s face breaks in a dimpled grin that is fast becoming Lydia’s favourite thing in the world. “Just okay? I have work at that.” She gestures at the small table with two seats and a candle in the middle. “Have a seat. Want tea?”

“Tea, yeah, that would be good.” Lydia is struggling to regain her footing again. Allison leaves the room and goes down the stairs, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts for a moment. They circle unhelpfully back to the taste of their short kiss on the landing, the feeling of closeness, even the way Allison smelled so close to her. Her revery is interrupted by the whistling of the kettle downstairs. She listens to Allison potter in the kitchen and tries not to imagine how it would be to have that for real. She hears Allison come back up the stairs, and sits up straight, cleans some imaginary dust off her shirt, and positions herself carefully not-too-obvious at the table.

“Thanks.” she says as Allison hands her a mug. They both drink from it in silence. When Lydia has emptied her cup, she puts it back on the table. Time to get practical.

“Were they after you or after me?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Allison says thoughtfully. “The outfits bore no obvious Argent hallmarks. But they could be anonymous on purpose. Do you have any threats looming over you?”

“Nothing I’m aware of,” Lydia says.

“You’re a twenty-eight year old CEO of a successful company and you haven’t made enemies along the line?” Allison says somewhat incredulously.

“Enemies of the type that tries to tarnish my reputation with my suppliers. Not send in assassins.” Lydia shrugs. “It’s usually not a tough business in that sense.”

“Is that why you bid on a warrior?” Allison asks.

Lydia gives her a look-over, wondering for a second how to play this. “Not entirely,” she says, playing her cards to the chest for the moment.

“Former lover with a grudge?” Allison suggests.

“Are you referring to the Whittemore debacle?” Lydia asks sharply.

“Or any other, really,” Allison says coolly., “I’m just going over the options here.”

“Aiden and I parted amicably.” Lydia goes over her former lovers, “Erica and Boyd were great, but as friends. Michelle and I… that was years ago.” She watches Allison carefully as she mentions her female lovers, and she hopes she does not misinterpret the flicker of interest she sees in her face. “I got a few good contracts, but nothing extraordinary. You?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem to consider it’s possible the assassins were after you. So? Any vengeful former lovers?”

“No, Scott is a puppy.”

“You can’t mean Scott McCall?” Lydia interjects.

Allison looks surprised. “You know Scott McCall?”

“Not personally. I have a regular correspondence with Stiles Stilinski. So I feel I know Scott a little too. I tend to agree he’s harmless. Mostly harmless.”

“And afterwards, I had a fling with another wolf. That... didn’t end well.”

Lydia bites down a gulp of disappointment at the conspicuous absence of women. It is unusual to be exclusively involved with one gender, but not unheard of. _Just as well, get it out of my system_ , she thinks sternly to herself.

“So we have no concrete leads on how to find out who did this.” Lydia concludes. “Either it is some weird admirer of one of us, or it’s a business competitor I don’t even realise takes it this seriously.”

Allison opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, but changes her mind. “There’s supplies here for a week or so,” she says instead.

“What is this place anyway?”

“I told you, it’s a safe house. Daughters of Diana take in all sorts of refugees. We can keep someone out of sight for a good long while.”

“Is that what you were tasked with?” Lydia asks.

“Eventually.”

Lydia looks at her, hoping that silence will seduce her to elaborate further. Allison stares right back without elaborating. “So, now what do we do?”

Allison stares into her mug as if the tea holds answers.

“Okay, nothing,” Lydia snarks. “Nothing can help.”

Allison leans back, closes her eyes and rubs her scalp. “I need to contact Aventine house, the Daughter’s head quarters, if only to make sure my disappearance doesn’t raise a major alarm. You need to stay put. I think I saw some books downstairs, do you want me to get you anything?”

“You’re leaving me here?”

“For a little while. I’ll be back before dinner time.”

Lydia is not entirely convinced, but she has no leverage over the situation. She hates the helplessness. “A book would be nice,” Lydia concedes.

Allison picks up her mug, and drinks the remaining tea in one gulp. “Then a book you shall have. Preferences?” Allison gets up and walks towards the door.

“I’m not big on fiction.” Lydia shrugs.

Allison leaves the room, and clatters down the stairs. Lydia can hear her open a door, then hears nothing for a couple of minutes. Then she hears the familiar tread return up the stairs. Allison dumps a stack of books on the table.

“I found something on physics, and something on the development of geography.”

“I’ll correct the math,” Lydia says. “I mean, thanks. For trying.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.” Allison leans in, as if to kiss her on the cheek. Lydia tilts her head to receive the kiss, when Allison realises her mistake and draws back. Without another word, Allison leaves the room, and then the house.

 

When Allison has left, the house feels almost unnaturally quiet. She opens the geography book and stares at the pages, not taking anything in. She lifts a hand to turn a page automatically, and huffs in frustration. She straightens her back, and decides her time alone is probably better spent doing her stretches than pouring over a book she is not actually reading. She loses track of time as she goes over her regular sets: warming up, shoulders, hips, body rolls. She rewards herself by doing a relaxation exercise at the end of the set. She relaxes limb after limb, first the left then the right.

 

Lydia wakes up with a startle when the door opens. For a moment she looks for anything that could help her fend off an attacker, but she deflates when she recognises Allison coming in.

“Oh gods, I’m so glad it’s you,” she says breathily as she sits up.

“Did you fall asleep?” Allison asks.

“I didn’t mean to,” she mutters.

“Well, I come bearing dinner ingredients.” Allison holds up a bag. “I have confirmed our whereabouts to the Daughters, they will take it up with the police.”

Lydia nods in resignation. “That will have to do for now. What’s for supper?”

“Soup and salad. I bought vegetarian stuff, since I didn’t know your dietary specifications.”

“Oh, I eat meat,” Lydia says, “but other things too.” On second thought, that could be read as an innuendo, but the damage is done.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat.” Her stomach growls, protesting the fact she skipped her lunch. “Okay, I’m hungry,” she amends with a smile.

“I’ll back in a bit. It’s safe to come with me downstairs. The house is taken off the list, so nobody will trouble us here.”

Allison walks towards the door to leave the room.

“I hope so, I’ve had my share of scares for one day, to be honest.” Lydia sets after her, and they walk down the stairs. In the corridor, Allison opens the door that leads them to the kitchen. Lydia enters the kitchen and leans against the counter.

“Do you want to hear the details of the security protocol?” Allison asks as she puts the grocery bag on the counter.

“I trust your senses on it,” Lydia says. “Can I help?”

“You can chop some of the vegetables. There’s a cutting board in the cupboard, and I think there should be knives in that drawer you’re blocking.”

Lydia leans back, and opens the drawer. She finds a vegetable peeler and a serviceable looking knife. Allison opens the cupboard, and produces a cutting board that she wordlessly hands to Lydia, and a pot to make soup in.

Lydia chops the tomatoes and the parsley. The lentils Allison brought were already cooked, so she rinses them. They work together quietly, as if they have been doing this for years. Lydia catches Allison glancing at her, and looks down quickly when that happens, hoping she isn’t blushing. Allison is turning snap peas, a bulb of fennel and some asparagus into a bowl of delight.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” Lydia asks.

“My father,” Allison says. “Well, kind of. I think he taught me how to eat, to taste. I was not very interested in the things they had girls do when I first joined the Daughters.”

Lydia smiles as she tries to imagine a young, dark haired girl scowling at knitwork. “I bet you were a real terror in crafts.”

“Whatever you’re imaging, I was probably worse.” There’s a hint of sadness in her voice. “I wasn’t a very good daughter for a while. I thought joining the Daughters would help.”

“Did it?”

“In a way. I miss my home, my family nowadays.”

“Can’t you go back?” Lydia asks.

“Things are… different now.”

“Can’t be worse than not having their daughter in their lives.”

“My mother was Victoria Argent.”

Lydia gapes at her. “You’re not just an Argent, you’re the Argent princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” Allison grits out.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Lydia says earnestly.

Allison says nothing, just stirs the soup. She takes a few deep breaths and exhales shakily as Lydia pretends to focus on a dressing.

“It’s okay,” she says eventually. “I mean, it’s not okay, it will never be okay. But she is dead and nothing will change that.”

Lydia puts down the bottle of olive oil she had found in the cupboard, and wraps her arms around Allison’s waist. Allison lets her, melts into the embrace. Lydia does not kiss her shoulder, no matter how much she wants to. This is not about passion or desire. This about comforting the person who saved her life today.

“Thank you.” Allison manages to sound both formal and a bit shaky. “I’m sorry I get like this.”

“Your mother was bitten without her consent. She decided to uphold her chosen family’s code. But you’re allowed to be sad about losing your mother. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Allison looks at her, and shakes her head a little. Lydia lets go of her and returns to making the dressing.

“Being strong is all you know, isn’t it?” Lydia says softly. Allison shrugs and stirs the soup. “Is that why you left your family? Because you were done being strong?”

“I think the soup is done,” Allison announces. “Is the salad ready?”

“As ready as I can manage. Are we eating here or upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

Lydia locates two bowls for the soup and two plates to serve the salad, and the required cutlery, and puts it on the largest plate she can find. She stacks the salad bowl on top of that, and start taking the stairs. Allison follows her with the soup pot.

 

When they are seated, a bowl of soup and a plate of salad each, they eat in relative quiet.

“What if we’ve been looking at the this issue the wrong way around?” Lydia says suddenly.

Allison frowns. “Wrong how?”

“We’ve been working from the assumption we know who is trying to attack you. What if we work from what we’ve seen?” Lydia takes another bite and chews thoughtfully.

“So what do you remember?” Allison asks.

“Crashing glass, two guys in black. You threw water at one of them, a pitcher at the other.” _That hit my competence kink like whoah_ , she adds in her mind. “I took off my shoes in the corridor? There was a lot of running for a bit?”

“Anything about the outfits?”

Lydia closes her eyes, trying to capture the image. Two men, wearing black. No obvious signs of belonging to anyone. She shrugs dejectedly. “Nothing. You?”

“The entrance was meant to intimidate. They were surprised when they were met with resistance. Likely they had studied the surroundings before coming in, possibly knew the basics of your routines.” Allison looks at her directly. “Do you have routines?”

“Adrien, you remember the guy who brought the water? He brings the morning mail at ten, then I work in private until lunch. I have a nap, and in the afternoon I have my meetings.”

Allison nods as if it confirms something. “I was afraid they were after me.”

“I thought the Daughters only accepted voluntary sisters?”

“I was. I’ve started considering leaving. I’ve even spoken of one of the Elder Sisters about it. I don’t think the Daughters is my path. To be completely honest, I was relieved when my auction went so well because it meant that my account is settled.”

Lydia decides to shelve whatever hurt is behind that confession for later consideration, and focus on the issue at hand. “You think I was the intended target?”

Allison nods thoughtfully. “Looks that way. Unless there’s an Argent informer among the Daughters. That’s unlikely but not impossible.” Allison takes another bite of the salad.

“So if they were after me, they consider me either a threat or a possible leveragable asset,” Lydia concludes.

“Were you planning anything big? Construction bids? Any magic in the works?”

“You know a lot about me, Argent girl.” Lydia says, not hiding how pleased she feels about that. Allison mimes zipping her lips. “I had no...public plans.” Lydia says.

“Private ones? I don’t think you were publicly connected with anyone?”

Time to come clean, Lydia decides. “I was planning a Mitsommer celebration to recharge my magic, when I bid on the most beautiful woman with experience in the trois mille joies.” She watches realisation dawn on Allison’s face. “If you’d be willing to spend the night you're relieved from your chastity oath with me, that it.” She shrugs at Allison’s surprise. “It works better if participants are enthusiastic.”

Allison puts down her fork, gets up from her seat, circles the table and cups Lydia’s face to kiss her fervently. “Yes, I’m willing.”

Lydia finds she closed her eyes and when she opens them, she sees Allison looking at her.

“We’ll need to make it out of here alive first, though.” Allison says as she walks back to her seat.

“For that, I’m making it out alive. And I'm taking you with me.” Lydia vows grimly. “Allison, how well do you know the construction business?”

“Not very, the Argent family is firmly security, and I haven’t really kept in touch. Why?”

“What if the men in black didn’t want me for what I’m doing but what I can do?”

“To finish something they can’t do themselves?”

Lydia nods and adds half-thinking, “It needs to be big, though, and something they assume they can strong arm me into doing.”

“It’s not uncommon for captors not to have a real plan for what to do after the work is done,” Allison points out.

Lydia tries to compile a list of contracts she had her company develop a bid for, and lost, from memory. After a few minutes, she huffs in frustration. “Do we have pen and paper somewhere?”

Allison gets up and picks up a sheet of paper and a pen from the cupboard. “The bare minimum to avoid complete boredom,” she explains as she puts them on the table. “For now, I’m doing the dishes, but don’t expect this to become a habit.” Lydia hums something, already engrossed in a matrix of projects and bidders.

 

When Allison returns from the kitchen with a book, a pot of tea, and two cups, Lydia is crossing out names from a list. Her frown has deepened into a scowl. Allison pours two cups and hands one to Lydia.

“Any luck?”

“Trying not to conclude the Whittemores were involved, but it’s growing less likely every second,” Lydia says, crossing out another name. She stares at the paper so angrily Allison starts worrying it might catch fire. Lydia shakes her head, a little distraught. She straightens up, takes the cup of tea and shrugs, “Okay, no other option left.”

“You were involved with Jackson Whittemore for a while, right?” Allison asks, “do you think he is involved in this somehow?”

“Given how well they know my routines, it’s hard to imagine he didn’t have a clue.” Allison makes a sympathetic sound. Lydia puts down the cup and crumples up the sheet of paper and throws it at the wall with a growl of frustration. Allison gets up and squats down next to her.

“Lydia, look at me. We’ll find these people and we’re going to turn them over to the sheriff. We’re not just going to take them to court, we’re not just going to strip them of every penny, we are going to be publicly gracious about it. Because nothing is better than a dish served cold.”

Some of the tension seems to drain from Lydia’s posture, and a cold smile turns at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re on my side,” Lydia grins wolfishly. “All will love you and despair.”

“Damn straight,” Allison says with determination. “And to that we’ll need a strategy.”

“We have very little evidence and it´s all circumstantial. Possible means, because they have money and Jackson has, ahem, intimate knowledge of my routines. Motive: they need someone of my skill level for a project they shouldn't have bid on. Opportunity, at least what they assumed was opportunity. They couldn’t foresee you would be there.”

“We need to find a link between the men in black and the Whittemores.” Allison concludes.

“We could just leave that to the sheriff’s department?” Lydia suggests.

“I figured I could try my old connections, see if we can find the direction in which to point the sheriff’s department.”

“Sounds good.”

“I think we should try and get some sleep first, though,” Allison says. Lydia shakes her head. I’m so wired, I don’t think I can sleep.” She smiles wrily, “unless you’d be willing to try something?”

Allison looks doubtful. “Try what?”

“Read to me?”

They lie down on the bed together, Lydia the big spoon to Allison’s small one. Allison reads her a chapter from the book she took with her. She feels Lydia’s breathing even out as she starts the second chapter. Before she reaches the end of it, she is sure Lydia is sleeping. She puts down the book and closes her eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

The following day they share a quiet breakfast, not quite certain where they stand with each other. They do agree they can break cover to go to the sheriff’s station. Allison arranges for a cab to take them there. When they arrive, a deputy tells them to wait before he can take Lydia’s statement. So they wait, nurturing a paper cup of tepid coffee. After forty minutes, Lydia is done. She calls her attorney, and asks her advice on dealing with it. Her attorney recommends Lydia waits while she makes a few calls. Another forty minutes later, Stilinski himself comes into the waiting room.

“Ms. Martin?”

“Yes,” Lydia says with her most pointed face.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he says courteously, “I was… nevermind. You wanted to give a statement?”

“Yes please.”

“Follow me, please.”

“I would like Ms. Argent here to accompany me.”

Stilinski looks from Lydia to Allison, back to Lydia, shrugs and says, “sure.”

 

He takes her statement, asking for details about the attack and the way Lydia eliminated the other suspects. He nods at her reasoning, adding that his son holds her in high regard, and his kid doesn’t say that about a lot of people. Lydia narrowly avoids saying “I know” to that, because she does know Stiles Stilinski. Instead she says, “Thanks. He’s not too bad himself.”

“I’ll let him know you said that, it’ll make his week,” the sheriff grins. “Back to business: ms. Argent, you said you had ideas to find whoever did it, even if they’re not responsible?”

“I like to think my name still holds some sway in the industry. So I am going to ask around.”

“I understand that’s not a question,” the sheriff says. “I must insist on telling you to be careful, though. This is potentially a very dangerous combination you’re taking on.”

“I can look after myself.” Allison says coolly.

The sheriff looks at her appraisingly, and decides to let it go for now.

 

The statements complete, they leave the station.

“Are you sure you want to leave this to the police?” Allison asks.

Lydia grins wolfishly. “Absolutely not. The Whittemores came after me, they will have to deal with me.”

“Good.” Allison says emphatically, “Sheriff Stilinski seems like a decent enough fellow, but…”

“Yeah. A bit too good, to be honest. Do you reckon we can get back to my place?”

“If they don’t have grounds to suspect you’re there, then I don’t see why not.”

“Cab.” Lydia decides.

“I’ll call.”

A cab comes to pick them up a few minutes later and drops them off at Lydia’s house. Allison follows her inside. Lydia points her at the salon. “Have a seat, I’ll fetch us something to drink. Coffee okay?”

Allison nods and walks into the room. It feels more formal than what she has seen from the workspace she entered yesterday. The desk and the chairs seem picked from an expensive office catalogue, designed to suggest power. She sits down at the corner of the table, and looks around. There are two drawings on the wall, but they too seem chosen to work with the sense of intimidating office rather than developing plans that fuse engineering with magic to perfection. She wonders if the blandness of the room is designed to hinder unwanted magic -that requires imagination- but her musing is interrupted by Lydia walking in with two mugs of coffee. Lydia puts down the mugs, and sits down on the other side of the corner. She stops herself from stroking Allison’s hand.

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Depends. Are you still hiring me for Mitsommer? Or is this the job you want me for?” Allison asks. Lydia weighs her options carefully: to work her Mitsommer ritual, someone she is genuinely attracted to is better. But at this moment she needs Allison’s help in getting the Whittemores more than she needs her for Mitsommer. She just really wants… She takes another sip from her coffee. It doesn’t matter what she wants, this decision should be about what she needs most, and obviously she needs Allison’s warrior skills a lot more than she needs her as a lover. She looks at Allison’s soft skin, tries to etch every detail of her into her brain for future reference.

“I need you as a warrior.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

Lydia shivers a bit at that, but firmly stops that line of thought. “Strategy it is then,” she says instead. “Because if we play this right, that could put us significantly higher up the food chain. And I intend to play this right.”

“I’m pretty sure the men who attacked you left very few traces, so they likely were professionals. So you’d need a pretty good witness to whatever confession you get out of the Whittemores, or extremely good material evidence.”

Lydia tilts her head: “Where did you learn all these things?”

“Sunday school.” Allison says deadpan over her coffee.

“I’m happy not knowing.”

Allison nods gravely. “I think I can dig up some connections from Sunday school, though. If you don’t mind.”

“If it gets the job done. Since the best defence is a good offence, I wanted to take this whole unsavoury business straight up to Mrs. Whittemore. When I have enough to end the whole shebang, with or without the sheriff.”

“I assume that yesterday’s thugs have to report their failure and come up with a new crew and a new plan. That kind of thing takes time. The sheriff promised to keep your resurfacing quiet for the moment, and I didn’t see anyone following us yet. I have useful contacts, so I’m going out for the afternoon, talk to them, see if anything turns up.” Allison says decidedly. “I’ll be back before dinner time, so that if word gets out, you’re not without protection. Say around nightfall?”

“One hell of a Sunday school you went to. I’ll see you tonight.” Lydia says, thinking to herself how wonderful it is to have a woman on her side who knows how to handle things and takes charge. Allison gets up and leaves the room. Lydia listens to her footsteps as she walks to the kitchen, where she presumably leaves the mug, and then walks through the corridor to leave the house. The building suddenly feels too big for her alone. She allows herself a moment to wallow as the door closes. She closes her eyes, counts up ten prime numbers from twenty-nine and gets to work. She leaves the salon and returns to the study. As expected, the window is still smashed in. She sighs and and decides that the upside is that it’s a pleasant spring day. She magics the windows back closed with temporary panes and then curses when she realises she has effectively ruined the evidence by cleaning up.

She sits down at her desk, and writes notes. First, a message to Adrien, telling him that the day will not be deducted from his pay, but she really needs him to come in tomorrow. The second, a request for an offer to actually put in windows, because the spellwork required for keeping the windows in will tug at her power. She can hear her teacher, ‘Never waste magic when normal work will do’. Her correspondence done, she turns her attention to the bigger question: figure out who is involved in her attempted abduction.

She waves at the drawers from the highest shelves. One of the minor advantages of being a witch: being five foot three is not an impediment to reaching shelves. She picks out the paperwork on the bigger contracts that she had bid on. There are eight projects that are complex enough to require combined forces even from the Whittemores. She selects the archive material on construction bids she lost to the Whittemores. There are five of them, three in the last year. She is not particularly sad about the losses, at least in one of the cases her bid book was not so much meant to win her the bid, but to put her on the map as a contender. None of the openings stand out to her, so she decides to clear her head in the kitchen. She boils water to make herself a new cup of coffee, and drinks it on the balcony. If she is going to nail the Whittemores for this - and she will - she’ll need either hard evidence or a very reliable witness. Preferably more than one. The thought hits her: the head of the Daughters of Diana.

 

She orders in dinner, and while waiting for the delivery she wonders where Adrien is. For a moment she entertains if Adrien might be complicit in the attack, but she can’t bring herself to believe it. Her mother trained him, and never doubted him. Even if there were some long game involved, this seemed absurd. After dinner, she catches up with the reports on construction sites from three projects Martin Inc is currently working on, and crunches the numbers for the estimated turn-over, taxes to be paid, and net earnings. Her heart is not in it, though. She keeps checking the time and listening for Allison to come in. She is brewing a pot of tea when she hears the doorbell. She checks her reflection in the mirror in the hallway, tucks a stray hair behind her ear. At the door, she checks through the peephole who is standing at the door.

Recognising Allison, she opens the door and ushers her in, quickly checking if anyone is outside before closing the door again. When the door clicks shut, Allison crowds her in against it and kisses her. Lydia is surprised for a split second, but this is Allison, smart, competent, hot Allison kissing her with abandon, so Lydia opens her mouth to encourage Allison to explore further. She runs her hand through Lydia’s hair. When Lydia tries to deepen the kiss, Allison breaks it.

“Not that I mind, but… what are you doing?” Lydia asks.

“Wanted to make sure we got that at least,” Allison says, smiling softly.

“Were you worried?”

“I have intel, so yes.”

“Come inside. There’s tea.”

 

Allison follows her into the house to the study. Lydia gestures at her to sit down and pours two cups of tea. She hands one cup to Allison, who wraps her hands around it, and sits down next to her with her own cup.

“What did you find?” Lydia prompts.

“The Whittemores have bitten off more then they can chew. For some reason that freaks them out more than regular breach of contract warrants."

"Did Mrs. Whittemore bind herself to the project?"

Allison looks at her puzzled.

"Sometimes, with a particular kind of project, your employer requires you bind yourself.” Lydia explains, “It means that until the project is complete, you're under compulsion to finish it. But if they've purposely under budgeted... or..." The gears are grinding in her head.

"Lydia, talk to me. I've promised protection, but I cannot protect you if you don't tell me what is going on." Allison looks a little anxious.

"How trustworthy is your source?"

"Very." Allison says decidedly. Lydia decides not to push for the identity of the source.

"How much do they know about magic?"

"No more than the average person." After a moment, Allison adds, “As far as I know.”

Lydia looks up, pursing her lips. She can feel Allison's desire ripple through the room now she has had a taste of it.

"I think... I need to think." She takes a few sips of tea, letting the warmth spread through her. "Do you want to stay the night?"

Allison looks surprised at the offer. "Can I?"

"Is it within terms? I have a guest room next to mine. I'll be working, but I'd really rather have you close. For your sake as well as mine. If they've found..."

"I can stay," Allison interjects. "I mean, I want to. The guest room would be better, since I haven’t formally left the Daughters.”

Lydia ignores jolt of desire at the image of the scent of Allison in her sheets, a stray hair on her pillow, Allison all dimpled and sleepy in the morning.

"You want to go to sleep now?"

"No, it's still early. You want me to do anything?"

"I can think of a million things, but for now I need you to not distract me. Make yourself comfortable, I'll be here a while."

 

Lydia gets up and presses a button in the cabinet. It triggers another bookcase to rise from the floor. She holds her tea, and whispers a few words over the steam. She lets her energy, her needs, fuse into the vapor for a few seconds and then blows. The smoke twirls, and forms a little bird that flies through the study, and then returns to the bookcase to perch on one of the books.

"Thank you," Lydia says to the bird that promptly dissolves, and takes the book off the shelf.

Allison looks at her with large eyes.

"No reason magic should be ugly," Lydia says airily as if she does this regularly, whereas in truth she hasn't done this since her apprenticeship. She sits down at the table and opens the book at the table of contents. "Please find something to do," she says pointedly, "you're distracting me."

Allison sighs, and picks up a random book, opens it and starts to read. Well sort of, because Lydia doesn’t hear her rustling the pages as often as she should, but it takes some of the edge off.

 

Between the clippings from her archive and the books she consults, she develops an understanding of what must have happened: mrs. Whittemore bound herself to a big, dodgy contract. One Lydia had not bid on, because she didn’t trust the numbers provided, but mostly because her gut had said something was wrong. Her advisers had recommended she take it, because it would have gotten her a big boost. She takes only a little pleasure in finding she was right about it. It seems that Jackson must have mentioned to his mother how strong a witch she had become when they were together. When the regular work of the Whittemore firm -good, but non magical- was not enough to finish the job on schedule, the binding had kicked in. It had whispered the opportunity of dragging in another witch, willing or not. Breaking a binding is hard, but not unheard of. Lydia has done it once, a practice round, as part of her magical training. She decides that breaking a compulsion might be what drives her from a well-known witch to one of legend. As soon as she figures out how.

 

She startles awake when Allison lays a hand on her back. “Lydia, go to bed.” Groggy with sleep, she lets Allison guide her out of the study.

“I don’t know where your bedroom is,” Allison says.

“Upstairs,” Lydia slurs. Allison hoists her up and guides her up the stairs. By the time they’re upstairs, Lydia has woken up enough to undress and point Allison to towels and the general direction to the bathroom. She strips off her dress and steps into bed. She tries to listen for Allison to settling into her room, but she falls asleep before it happens.

 

She wakes up earlier than usual, feeling very much alive. She looks to the window and is surprised to see Allison, very much asleep and her mouth a little open. Lydia considers her options: leave Allison asleep in bed, and start her day, wake up Allison and start her day, or leave Allison to sleep and stay in bed a little longer. She realises she’s cheating. The longer she spends thinking about it, the longer she stays in bed. She pushes down the sheets, and gets up. She tiptoes to the corridor to her wardrobe, and slips on a dress. She goes downstairs to make herself some breakfast. She makes an omelet, chops some chervil to put on top and pours a glass of orange juice. She eats her omelet at the countertop and takes her juice with her to her study. She looks at the clock in the corridor. 7:20, it reads. She huffs out a breath and enters her study, where she sits down with the books she left open the night before. She studies binding spells and counter curses, on how tie and loosen up a promise, what makes a promise keeper and the promise taker. Her mind is immersed in the symbolic use of knots when she hears a throat being cleared.

“Allison!”

Allison is standing the door opening, wearing only her panties and a very short top. Lydia takes in the curve of her breasts, and the soft lines of her flat belly. Allison lets her, tilts her head in challenge. Lydia wants to devour her. “Breakfast?” she offers instead.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Omelets, yoghurt, there’s some bread and fruit. Tea, coffee, juice. If there’s anything else you really want, you can ask Adrien, he’s due to come in around 10. Wait, what time is it?”

Allison looks her over, slowly with a smirk.

Lydia gestures at the notes that are spread out in front of her.

Allison looks over her shoulder at the stairs that lead up to the bedroom.

Lydia shakes her head, gets up and stacks her notes on one pile and moves that pile away from her, and gestures at the free space.

Allison walks over, almost predatory.

Lydia sits back down on her chair, and pushes it back.

Allison takes the hint and straddles her and leans in to kiss her. Lydia returns the kiss with everything she has. Allison smells vaguely of apples, her body is warm through the shirt she is wearing. Lydia’s hands roam over her back and over her butt, earning her a little shudder. Instead of a moan, Allison’s stomach growls. Giggling, they break their kiss.

“That’s my cue, I guess,” Allison says. She dips in for another quick peck on the lips and gets up from Lydia’s lap. As she walks over to the corridor that leads to the kitchen, she says,: “I’m going to get breakfast, and then we’re figuring out a strategy because there’s so many things I’d rather be doing to you, but we need to get the Whittemores out of the way.” At the door, she throws another look over her shoulder and walks over to the kitchen.

Lydia slumps in her chair.

 

Later that morning Allison returns, hair wet from the shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and jeans, holding a mug of coffee in her hands. She puts the coffee on the table and draws in a chair.

“What’s the plan and what can I do?” Allison asks.

“The plan, and I’m using the term loosely here, is I make Mrs. Whittemore an offer she shouldn’t refuse. I want the head of the Daughters to be a witness to it.”

“Marin Morrell?”

Lydia nods.

“You play to win, don’t you?”

“Is there another way?” Lydia shrugs. “Can you get me in with Morell?”

“I think I can,” Allison says thoughtfully. “Can you spare me the rest of the morning?”

“Unless you know a lot about Scandinavian tying spells.”

Allison shakes her head, and straightens her back. “In that case, I’m going to get going. I’m going to come back tonight.” Allison walks towards the door, but when she’s half way, she turns around. “What if they come back for you today?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if they attempt to kidnap you today?”

Lydia frowns, as the problem hadn’t occurred to her. She looks around, and spots an unharmed vase full of flowers in the window sill. She takes out one of the periwinkles, and holds it between her hands and closes her eyes for a few seconds. She opens her eyes and beckons Allison over.

“Can you sit down here for me, please?”

Allison looks puzzled, but obliges. When she sits down, Lydia undoes her hair.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m braiding in a periwinkle. I linked it to me. If anything goes wrong here, you’ll know.”

“Okay. I was going to ask, but I don’t think an explanation will help me understand.”

“It’s not the most complicated spell there is. I’ll teach you some day.”

“Sure. But now, I need to go pull strings.”

Allison gets up, touches the braid, and steals another kiss. Before it can develop more heat, she draws back and leaves. Lydia watches her leave, and returns to her work.

 

It’s almost 9:30, when the doorbell rings. Lydia frowns and gets up to see who is there. To her surprise, it’s Adrien.

“Adrien, I thought you had a key.”

“Good morning, Miss Martin, I wasn’t sure you’d be in today.”

“I am, come on in.” She steps aside to let him. They walk towards the kitchen.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Adrien asks, trying to prompt an explanation for the events the day before, without overstepping the balance between them.

“I am. I’m working at the moment. You know what to do this morning?” Lydia feels a pang of guilt at not explaining things properly. But if her suspicions are correct, she needs to keep as low a profile as possible, and inform on a need-to-know basis.

“I suppose, yes,” Adrien says, resigning himself to work now, answers maybe later, “unless there is something I need to plan for?”

“We may have a guest for supper.”

“I’ll make sure dinner is flexible.”

“And I’ll be running some test during the day. Don’t be alarmed.”

“Very well.”

“Adrien?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For coming back. It’s been weird here without you.”

“Of course,” he says formally. “If you need anything.”

“I will ask. And I promise I will explain later.

 

With that, Lydia sets back to work. Adrien brings in the mail, a little later than normal. He brings lunch, and Lydia mutters thanks, without looking up from the pages. It feels absurdly normal to have him taking care of her as he always does. In the afternoon, he announces there is guest for her.

“Who is it?” Lydia asks.

“She didn’t give a name.”

“Bring her to the salon, please.”

Adrien nods and leaves the study. Lydia gets up from her desk, checks her hair in the reflection and puts a scarf over her shoulders. She has been wearing comfortable dress clothes, and a scarf over her shoulders lends the outfit a little dignity. She takes a deep breath and goes over to the salon. A young black woman is sitting at the table, a glass of juice in front of her. In spite of her small frame, Lydia can feel the power humming around her. She knows immediately who this is.

“Ms. Morrell. How good of you to come,” Lydia says.

“Ms. Martin. I was understand you have a problem?”

Adrien knocks on the door.

“Yes?” Lydia asks.

“Ms. Martin, would you like a drink too?”

“A cup of coffee, please, Adrien.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says. She sits down and turns her attention back to Ms. Morrell. She continues, “I have reason to assume someone is disturbing the balance. Even though I can rectify the immediate problem, I felt it would be prudent to inform you.”

“Using the Argent princess as a messenger is a bit much.”

Lydia shrugs. “It got your attention.”

“So. What happened?”

The door opens, and Adrien walks in holding a tray with a mug of coffee and a plate with cookies. He serves her the coffee and puts the cookies within reach.

“Thank you,” Lydia says, making an inviting gesture at ms. Morrell. Adrien nods and leaves.

“How much did All… Ms. Argent tell you?”

Ms. Morrell looks unimpressed. “I’m aware of where Allison’s affections lie. Tell me from the beginning.”

“I entered the Daughter’s annual auction and won. Ms. Argent came over personally to have me sign the required documentation. Lucky, because when she was here, there was an attempt to kidnap me. She got me to a safehouse, where we hid last night. We put together what we knew at that point. This morning, she dropped me of here. I pulled out some of my files from my personal archive. I believe that someone has put a binding spell on Susan Whittemore.”

She stops talking for a moment, to drink some of her coffee and watch Ms. Morrell’s response. When Ms. Morrell doesn’t offer any comments, she continues:.“I can undo the binding.”

That gets her a response.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Ms. Martin,” Ms. Morrell says thoughtfully. “For the record, I think you can do it. What do you need me for?”

“I need a witness,” Lydia says simply. “You’re not just any witness. You guard the balance in Beacon Hills. You are _the_ witness.”

“Okay,” Ms. Morrell says simply. “I’ll witness.” Lydia feels the energy in the room shift with the declaration, as if everything is rustling.

“Your price?” Lydia asks.

“Take in Allison Argent.” Lydia can’t hide her confusion, and Ms. Morrell continues: “She’ll be leaving the Daughters soon, and she’ll need a place to stay. I want her to remain safe. I believe she will be safe with you.”

“By root and moonshine, I will do all I can to keep her safe.” The simple words of the ancient vow ripple through the air for a second, and then everything just settles.

“I love it when a plan comes together,” Ms. Morrell grins. “I’ll leave you to your preparations.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says. They get up and Lydia sees her out.

“I assume you’ll inform me when you need me?” Ms. Morrell asks her.

“I’m sure I’ll find a way,” Lydia says with a smile. Ms. Morrell nods and walks off. Lydia closes the door behind her and sags against it, exhaling slowly.

“That went well enough,” she says to no one in particular. She collects herself and goes back to the study to set up her supplies for an untying spell. 


	4. Chapter 4

At the end of the afternoon Allison turns up, bow over her shoulder and a quiver full of arrows. Adrien shows her in. Allison walks over to Lydia and kisses her temple.

“Hey,” Lydia says. “You okay?”

“Yes. You?”

“Ms. Morrell came to see me. She’s agreed to Witness. So I guess I am okay.” Allison nods.

“Have you decided what you’ll do after this mess is untangled?” Lydia asks, trying to sound casual about it.

Allison goes quiet for a moment. “Not really,” she admits.

“You’re welcome here. Always.” Lydia says earnestly. “Now, I need to write to Susan Whittemore to meet on neutral terrain.” Allison takes a seat at the table.

“Can I take a sheet of paper?” Allison asks.

“Sure,” Lydia says. Allison grabs a sheet of paper and a pencil to start sketching something. Lydia reaches for one of the books on the table and takes out a dried garlic flower, a recognisable symbol for cleaning any unwanted influences. She takes a fresh sheet of paper and writes down a message. She folds the the flower into the paper as a sign of her good intentions and puts it on the edge of the table, waiting for Adrien to come by. Lydia looks over at Allison who is scribbling on the sheet.

“Want to tell me what you’re doing?” Lydia asks.

Allison purses her lips, and nods. “I’m trying to figure out what I should do.” Lydia tries to make her best ‘carry on’ face.

“I left my family because… well, they live by a code that forced my mother to commit suicide. At that point I had to face the truth about my family: they are the real monsters. I want no part of it. I left because I no longer wanted to be there. The Daughters took me in, but lately I’ve been reconsidering if the order really is for me.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Lydia says. She knows that she is under an oath to offer, but she is certain she would have offered it either way. Allison looks startled, and then hopeful.

“I’ll consider it,” Allison says after a moment. “We have stuff to do first though. Where are you proposing we meet Ms. Whittemore?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot. I’ve invited her to a place Erica mentioned to me. It’s run by Cora Hale, so it counts as neutral territory.” Allison hums her approval. “So now, we wait.”

 

Adrien comes in and picks up the letter for delivery. While he is out, Lydia decides to go supply shopping and Allison reluctantly returns to the headquarters of the the Daughters. Lydia has a few regular suppliers for her combined practice of magic and engineering. She keeps in touch with them, because she regularly has custom orders and she finds that personal relationships are key in expediting those. So she has tea with her account manager at the supplier of special plants, and buys a cake for her supplier of timber. She feels bereft without Allison by her side and on the cab ride from the botanist to the timber supplier she wonders when Allison had become so integral to her life. She pays the cab driver absentmindedly. He yells after her she’s forgetting her cake. She thanks him, and doubles her tip.

When she returns home in the evening, Adrien has supper ready for her and the reply from Mrs. Whittemore. She thanks him for starting dinner and gives him the rest of the evening off. She senses if there’s a lock on the letter. There is, a small one that responds to her fingertips. She folds the letter open, and is pleased to see that Ms. Whittemore agreed to see her at Hale’s cafe the next day. Lydia folds the letter back and starts packing the materials for the next day. She brews herself a mug of tea and goes to bed early. It´s too big and too empty without Allison, but she falls asleep eventually.

 

The following day, she leaves a note for Adrien with instructions for the day, including the time at which she wants to check in and at what time she should definitely be back. She adds the Sheriff’s phone number for good measure. She packs her bag and leaves her house. She hails a cab to take her to the public library. She arrives forty five minutes before she had agreed to meet Susan Whittemore to get everything in order.

She orders a cup of tea, and sits down at one of the tables to anchor in the place. When she goes to the bathroom, she drops a few cloves in four corners around the table, certain that new customers will crush them and so walk in the protection through the establishment. She orders a strawberry smoothie while waiting the last ten minutes.

Five minutes before the appointed time, Susan Whittemore walks in, wearing a light beige trenchcoat over a business suit. Lydia waves at her from her table. Susan Whittemore gestures at the counter. Lydia nods in understanding. She observes Ms. Whittemore ordering her drink through her lashes, trying to get a read on her energy. She does not read overly stressed out, but Lydia knows what a perfect face can hide. Mrs. Whittemore joins her at her table.

“Ms. Martin. It’s been a while.”

“Mrs. Whittemore. It has indeed. It always was a pleasure.”

“This isn’t a social call,” Ms. Whittemore says sharply, and there the mask slips for a second. Lydia smiles, recognising that the woman who once hoped to become her mother in law needs to be placated a little.

“It isn’t.” She allows a few seconds for Mrs. Whittemore to turn the conversation. “You’ve been bound to a project. You’re in over your neck. Someone tried to force me to join your team. Instead, I’m going to unbind you.” She picks up her chocolate cup and takes a long sip, studying Susan Whittemore’s expressions. They range from shock, via disbelief to confusion.

Mrs. Whitmore eventually settles on, “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“Am I wrong?” Lydia counters.

Susan Whittemore’s shoulders slump minutely. “No.”

“Then why do you doubt that I can fix this?”

“You’re the youngest witch I know.”

“I’m also the chair of Martin Industries Incorporated. I’m the best witch you know.”

“You don’t know who bound me.” Susan counters.

“There’s basically two options: Alan Deaton or Alexander Argent. And I honestly don’t think Alan would do this kind of magic. Not anymore, anyway. Now, the Argents will do absolutely anything.” She corrects, “Most Argents will do anything.”

“Who says I want to be released from the binding?”

“I’ve left instructions to inform the Sheriff’s department, but I have a feeling you’d rather not see this come to a trial.” Lydia says calmly. Mrs. Whittemore slumps a little further, and then smiles sadly. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance you and Jackson will ever reconcile? We could use a woman of your talents.”

Lydia smiles and shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

Susan looks at her as if she is puzzling something out, and then finds a satisfying conclusion. “So why help me, if you’re not looking to return to our family?”

“ _Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas proteger eux-mêmes_.” Lydia quotes the creed of the Daughters of Diana, ‘We protect those who cannot protect themselves.’

“Surely, you’re not thinking of joining the Daughters?” Susan seems almost affronted. Lydia schools her face as neutral as she can, but she can see the realisation dawn on Susan’s face as it clicks. “You! You won the Argent princess.” Lydia shrugs, neither denial or confirmation. Susan just nods and says, “Okay, you get one chance.”

“That’s all I need.”

“When?” Mrs. Whittemore asks, taking out a small tablet.

“Tonight okay with you?”

Mrs. Whittemore frowns, and sighs, “Just as well get it over with. Where?”

“My place or yours?”

“Mine is better, I suppose. It’s where the binding took place after all.”

“Acceptable. What time?”

“I guess I should eat beforehand?”

Lydia purses her lips. “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt. Around darkfall then?”

Mrs. Whittemore nods. “Anything I need to get in preparation?”

“No, leave the prep to me.”

Mrs. Whittemore smiles at that. “That’s my girl.”

Lydia smiles back and nods. They say their goodbyes and leave the coffee shop, Susan to her car, and Lydia flags another cab.

 

In the cab to the Daughters’ headquarters, Lydia considers she might have to invest in a proper car if she keeps taking cabs this often. She pays the cabdriver when they arrive and walks into the Order’s building. It is austere, formal and sparsely decorated but it’s pleasantly lighted. She opens the door and is walks into a reception area. A young woman is seated behind the counter. “Can I help you?” the young woman asks.

“Ms. Martin,” Lydia introduces herself. “Ms. Morrell knows I’m coming.” She wants to ask about Allison, if she’s teaching the younger girls self-defense moves or practicing her shooting skills, or maybe she’s studying somewhere in the fabled library of the order, but she doesn’t. Ms. Morrell will call for Allison when they need her, and Lydia thinks she should respect that. Allison isn’t hers. Yet.

“I’ll call her assistant,” the receptionist says with a pleasant smile. “Please take a seat.”

Lydia complies and waits as the receptionist makes a call. A few minutes later, a middle aged woman enters the reception. “Ms. Martin?” she asks. Lydia nods. “I’m Lucia, I’m Ms. Morrell’s assistant. Come with me please.”

 

She follows the lady into a labyrinth of passageways, up a pair of stairs to Ms. Morrell’s office. There is a small reception area, with a door that probably leads Ms. Morrell’s office.

“Ms. Morrell? Are you ready to see Ms. Martin?” Lucia asks.

“Send her in.”

Lucia gestures at the door, and at the same time, Ms. Morrell appears in the door opening. “Ms. Martin, welcome. Thank you, Lucia.” Lucia nods at her and takes her seat at the desk. Lydia follows Ms. Morrell into her office, while Ms. Morrell closes the door behind them. The office is large, and light as the rest of the building. There are bookcases to the wall opposite the window, and a large desk with an office chair on one side looking at the door and two seats opposite. There is also a low table with two comfortable chairs. On the table is a teapot and two cups and saucers.

“Please take a seat,” Ms. Morrell says, inviting her to the more comfortable set up. “I’ve had some tea made. If you’d like something else, that can be provided too.”

“Tea is fine,” Lydia assures her.  Ms. Morrell smiles knowingly and pours two cups, sliding one over to Lydia, who accepts with a “thank you.” Ms. Morrell looks her over. Finally, she says, “You look…spry. I take it your meeting with Mrs. Whittemore went well?”

“She agreed to the unbinding.” Lydia smiles, “so yes, it went well.”

“Timeline?”

“Nightfall, tonight. At their place -that’s where the Binding took place, so that works in my favour.”

“I’ll make sure I’m there.” Ms. Morrell says earnestly.

“I want Allison there too. I’ll need her to anchor me.”

A flicker of doubt runs over Ms. Morrell’s face. “Are you sure about that?”

Lydia purses her lips and arches an eyebrow.

“In that case I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll make sure Allison is there too.”

Lydia finishes her tea. “Thank you.” She starts to get up. “I look forward to seeing you both tonight.” Lydia half-bows in a formal gesture of respect. Ms. Morrell gets up and half-bows in return. She returns to the door, and opens it.

“Lucia, can you see Ms. Martin out? And when you get back, please come see me?”

“Of course,” Lucia says, “Ms. Martin, would you follow me please.”

On their way back to the exit, Lydia makes small talk, complimenting Lucia’s dress -that works for her eyes- and asking a few questions about the building.

“Thank you,” Lydia says when Lucia drops her off at the reception desk.

“You’re very welcome. Have a pleasant evening.”

Lydia smiles politely and says, “You too.”

 

Lydia can barely eat with her nerves. Adrien must have foreseen this, because he he left her a pot of lentil soup on the stove and some fresh bread. She eats her soup, half by spoon, half by soaking the bread in it. She tries to disentangle what is causing her to vibrate. She sits up straight, closes her eyes and looks inwards. She tries to colour code the different lines of tension running  through her: doing an unbinding, for the second time in her life and the first time since training -but it’s more like stage fright, the thrill of performance she codes yellow- her nerves over the bindee being Susan Whittemore -is a bright blue line of it. And then there’s Marin Morrell being witness in green. And Allison. Allison who can go from dimpled Disney princess to warrior queen in a heartbeat, and Lydia wants to see her, wants her, show her off, share their secrets at the fireside in the heart of winter, Lydia wants wants wants. Thoughts of Allison, both carnal and chaste are a bright red line through her feelings. Satisfied, she lets go, centers herself and opens her eyes. Understanding her emotions is how she keeps them in control. She bags her things and calls for yet another cab.

 

She arrives at the Whittemore’s house and it’s everything she remembers: large and ostentatious, almost a performance of wealth and power. It’s the first time since her breakup with Jackson she’s been back and she realises that she no longer misses him. The wounds have healed, and the scars no longer itch. She’s moved on. She knocks on the door, secure in the knowledge she can work her magic without any danger to herself. The butler opens the door to let her in.

“Hi Joseph,” she greets him cordially.

“Ms. Martin, good to see you,” he smiles politely at her. “Mrs. Whittemore has requested I escort you to the study. Can I take your bag?”

“Very well.” She hands over the bag holding her supplies and follows him to the study. Upon their arrival, she finds Susan and David Whittemore on the couch in the study, and the bell rings again. Joseph turns quickly to open the door.

“Lydia, nice to see you again,” David Whittemore says, obviously unsure of which tone to use with her. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says, trying for friendly-polite. She sits down on one of the smaller chairs.

“Hi again, Lydia,” says Susan Whittemore.

“Good evening.”

They go quiet again, the room is buzzing with tension when Marin Morrell comes in, followed by Allison Argent. Lydia looks her over with unabashed hunger, taking in the way Allison looks, her face composed, wearing a simple white dress that reaches to her knees and a cardigan that almost matches. Marin guides Allison to one of the chairs and takes the last one. Lydia is still ogling a little when Marin Morrell coughs.

“What do we need to discuss beforehand?” Ms. Morrell asks, looking around. Susan and David Whittemore look at Lydia for guidance.

“First of all, thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice, ms. Morrell,” Lydia starts, getting herself in the business mode. Ms. Morrell nods solemnly. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page here: Susan Whittemore, the mother of a man I am no longer involved with, was bound to a project. This is illegal, and moreover unethical. Tonight, I will perform the unbinding, with Allison as my anchor.” She gestures at Allison, who smiles back. Lydia allows herself a split second to enjoy looking at her mouth. “Marin Morrell, head of the Daughters of Diana, will Witness the unbinding.” Ms. Morrell makes the air hum with her power for a moment, reminding them that she too is a woman of power.

“What will you want in return?” Susan Whittemore asks.

“ _Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas proteger eux-memes, we protect those who cannot protect themselves_.” Lydia says. “And I may chose to collect a favour at some point. For now, rest assured, I am satisfied to know I’ve righted a wrong. Is that acceptable?” she asks.

“Your terms are accepted,” Susan Whittemore says.

“Your terms are accepted,” David Whittemore echoes her words. Lydia shelves that tidbit about their relationship away for further consideration.

“It is Witnessed,” Marin Morrell says earnestly. “You may proceed.”

Lydia picks up her bag and picks out what she needs: a string of black lace, a small bottle holding a green liquid that she place on the table.

“David, put a hand on Susan’s back,” Lydia instructs. “Allison, I need your hands on my back or shoulder, whatever is comfortable for you.” Allison gets up, and moves to stand behind her and rests her hands on Lydia’s shoulders.

“Give me a moment,” Lydia says, closing her eyes to concentrate on the weight of Allison’s hands on her shoulders, on how they feel, and where their energies blend. When she feels sufficiently anchored, she opens her eyes again. “Thank you, Allison, you can let go now for a moment. Okay, Susan, close your eyes,” she instructs. Susan closes her eyes. “Now, focus on the feeling of David’s hand on your back.” Susan frowns a little. “He will anchor you, when you feel scared, just remember that feeling of his hand on your back and know that you’re here and you’re safe. Nobody can hurt you.” She takes a moment to let that sink in. “Now, feel the shape of his hand on your back, feel the weight. Feel it imprint.” Susan sits up a little straighter. Lydia picks up the lace from the table.

“Remember the lace I put on the table?” Lydia asks.

“Yes. Black.”

“I’m going to tie it around your wrists.”

“I’m really glad I’m here to see another woman tying you up,” David attempts to joke as Susan holds out her hands. Lydia starts wrapping the lace around her wrists.

“Tell me if it’s too tight,” Lydia continues unperturbed.

“It’s okay so far,” Susan reassures her. After thirteen windings, Lydia ties the lace ends. She picks up the bottle and looks over at Marin Morrell. Ms. Morrell inclines her head solemnly. Lydia takes the stopper from the bottle and puts it back on the table. The scent of mowed grass starts filling the room. Susan wrinkles her nose appreciatively.

“Allison, can you sit by my side for the moment?” Lydia asks.

“Sure,” Allison says, walking around the chair and crouching down next to Lydia, leaning her upper body against Lydia’s legs. “This okay?”

Lydia nods. She takes Susan’s hand. “Remember, you’re safe here. David is right behind you.” Susan bites her lip and takes a fortifying breath. Lydia closes her eyes and starts her incantation. “In the summer, with lavender, I undo the tie that binds you”.

The room heats up, and the scent changes to juniper and lavender. Lydia unties the lace and starts undoing the first three windings. “In the fall, with chestnut and aspen, I undo the tie that binds you.”

The temperature drops, and the smell changes to that of a forest on a rainy morning. Lydia opens her eyes, to check if everyone is still okay. Ms. Morrell is watching her carefully, and David is looking intently away from her.

She undoes three windings. “In the winter, with cardamom and juniper, I undo the tie that binds you.” A savoury-sweet smell accompanies another drop in temperature. Susan starts to shake, and Lydia throws David a look. He catches it, and starts rubbing Susan’s back.

She gives him an approving smile and undoes three windings. “In spring, with cherry and apple, I undo the tie that binds you.” She takes off three more windings as the temperature in the room rises again, and the scent of blossoms fills the room. “Susan, I have unwrapped the tie that binds you. Now you may release yourself.”

Susan looks a little surprised at that, raises an eyebrow at Lydia and then looks back down at her wrists. A little unsure, she takes the ribbon from her wrists and holds it out to Lydia, “Now what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Burn it, probably,” Allison says.

“That’s actually good advice,” Lydia says. “Ms. Morrell, are you satisfied?”

“I am satisfied,” Ms. Morrell says solemnly. “You’re all free to go.” Allison rolls her eyes but then looks a little sad. David gets up, and helps Susan up from the couch. Lydia gets up from her chair, and Allison slumps against it. Susan extends her hand to Lydia, and Lydia takes it.

“Thank you for your help, Ms. Martin,” Susan says.

“You’re welcome.” Lydia says, trying to retain her professional demeanor while all she wants to talk to Allison.

“You can see me out now,” Ms. Morrell says to Susan and David. She turns to Lydia. “I’ll leave you two for the moment.” Ms. Morrell steers Susan and David out of the room.

“She makes it look so easy,” David says in the hallway, not realising Lydia can still hear him.

“The great ones always do,” Ms. Morrell says, their voices slowly going softer as they walk away.

Allison gets up from the floor and brushes some dust from her skirt. Lydia clears her throat.

“For what it’s worth, I think this whole...thing,” Lydia waves her hand, “means you’ve fulfilled the terms of the bargain. So…”

“So you’re ditching me?” Allison says sharply.

“Releasing you.” Lydia amends.

“Back into the wild?” Allison scoffs, “because that would really suck.”

They glare at each other.

“Seriously, where do you think I’d be going?” Allison asks, frowning deeply.

“Aventine House?” Lydia tries.

Allison shakes her head and looks a little sad, “I don’t… I’m not going back there. I’ve decided to leave. My future is elsewhere.”

“Allison, I offered you a place in my quarters, that offer holds.” Lydia hesitates a little, before adding, “I think we’re good together. I mean you don’t have to… I don’t expect...” _Dammit, why do words keep failing me when it comes to her?_

“We could be great,” Allison says, her jaw set determined.

Lydia walks over to her, tangles their hands and whispers, “We could be devastating.” Allison smiles back at her, her gaze dropping to Lydia’s lips. Lydia closes the distance by tiptoeing a little and kisses Allison, opening her mouth a little. Allison responds by flicking her tongue over Lydia’s lips, and letting Lydia’s hand go to pull her closer. After what feels like seconds, or ages, Lydia breaks the kiss and looks up at Allison. “Maybe we should take this back to my place?”

“Does that require letting go?”

Lydia gestures around her. “Ex-boyfriend’s mother’s work space. I say we leave now.” Allison groans, kisses slightly more chastely and releases Lydia from her arms. Lydia grabs her hand and they walk towards the exit. When they are almost at the lobby, they run into Susan Whittemore. Lydia realises she likely looks flushed by now, but tries for a cool demeanor.

“Well, Mrs. Whittemore, that was fun, but let's avoid any magical bindings in the future.”

Susan Whittemore looks amused from Lydia to Allison, and smiles satisfied, “I think you've earned the right to call me ‘Susan’ twice over now. You may never become family,” Susan glances at Allison, “But saving my life kind of clinches it. We’ll do coffee next time. Thank you for your service. I am in your debt.” She turns to Allison. “Take good care of her.”

Allison bites her lips, avoiding the words, “I intend to.” Instead, she smiles, and says, “Thank you for your hospitality. Under merrier circumstances the next time?”

“I’ve called a cab for you, it should be here any minute.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says as the doorbell rings. Mrs. Whittemore walks them to the door and shakes their hand. She checks if the person at the door is indeed a cab driver, and only when she has confirmed that he is indeed who they’re waiting for, she lets Lydia and Allison out.

“Be safe,” she calls after them. Lydia waves at her, and they get into the car.

 

They spend the ride home making out like teenagers, hands roaming over their clothes, learning the outlines of each other’s bodies. The driver carefully taps against the window before opening the door for them.

“Already taken care of,” he says when Lydia starts rummaging in her bag. “Just get inside, and have a good evening.” Lydia takes out her keys and walks to the door, holding Allison’s hand all the way. She opens the door, and they spill inside. Lydia turns on the hallway light and remembers at the last moment to put down her bag carefully, because the bottle inside it needs to be dealt with cautiously. She stands upright, and cups Allison’s jaw and pecks her softly on her lips. “Anything you need?”

“A bed would be nice,” Allison suggests.

Lydia smiles broadly at that, “follow me.”

“No way!” Allison says, and sprints down the corridor, and starts rushing up the stairs.

“Not fair! I’m wearing heels!” Lydia objects as she sprints after her.

“Come and get me!” Allison teases from the top of the stairs as Lydia takes them, two at a time. When Lydia is almost at the top, Allison sits down on the top stairs with her knees wide so that Lydia can tower over her a little for a change. Allison tilts her head, allowing Lydia to dip in. Lydia takes the hint, hunching a little to kiss Allison´s mouth, her cheeks red with the exercise and arousal. She strokes the inside of Allison’s leg, sweeping over her thighs. Allison moans a little.

“I was going to ask if that was okay,” Lydia smiles.

“As long as it doesn’t mean you’re stopping, I’m okay.”

“Seriously, if there’s something,” Lydia says, suddenly sobering a little, “if there’s anything you don’t want, just tell me, okay? Because I will stop.”

Allison just straightens her spine, trying to reach Lydia’s mouth. “Copy that, captain, now will you please take me to bed?”

“And here I was, thinking I was the one with the competence kink,” Lydia grins. She straightens up, giving Allison the space to get up. Allison evidently remembers the way to her bedroom, because she opens the right door without hesitation. Lydia’s bed is unmade, the curtains are open, but at least her clothes are in the hamper. Allison falls on the bed, testing the soft mattress. Lydia climbs on top of her, straddling her, to nibble on Allison’s earlobe. Allison strokes Lydia’s back and over the curve of her buttocks, which sends a jolt of arousal through Lydia’s stomach. When Allison doesn’t really respond to having her earlobes nibbled, Lydia kisses her way down her neck, which makes Allison shiver satisfyingly underneath her. Lydia carefully cups her breasts over the white fabric, thumbing over her nipples, feeling them harden under her touch. She mouths over them, and Allison arches and moans.

“If you get of me for a second, you can undo my zipper on the back,” Alison says to Lydia, “or would you like me to undress you first?”

“Undress you,” Lydia says before her mouth goes dry, and she gets up. Allison turns over, and Lydia opens her zipper, allowing her the view of Allison’s back in the moonlight. It’s mesmerising. Lydia pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside, and then zips open her skirt and shimmies out of it in a haze. Allison turns over to watch her while Lydia strips teasing, just hurrying and eager. Lydia looks up, hungry, almost dizzy with want and climbs back on top of Allison. “What do you like?” she asks, because she wants to do this and do it well, no not just well, she wants to be so good Allison will never find another lover so good.

“Come lie down,” Allison taps on the bed. Lydia complies, lying flush “Have you ever had sex with a woman before?”

“Not… not really,” Lydia admits, “but I’m a really fast learner,” she adds.

“Okay, what you said earlier, totally works both ways: anything that doesn’t feel right, we can stop and/or try something else, okay?” Lydia leans in to kiss her, but Allison holds her off. “Okay?” Allison says earnestly.

“Yes. I promise,” Lydia says, “when I feel uncomfortable, I will speak up.”

“Good.”

“Can I get back to kissing you now?”

 

The shadow of the curtains indicate they have slept until well after daybreak. Lydia wakes up to a warm body next to hers. _Haven’t felt that in a while, it’s nice_ , she thinks to herself. She curls around Allison, slipping her hand over the curve of Allison’s belly.

Allison stirs, and her eyes flutter open first, a little and then she sits up with a jolt. “What time is it?”

“Well after daybreak, but no way near noon. Why?”

Allison looks puzzled. “With the Daughters, I’d get up at daybreak, I freaked out for a moment.” She slumps back in the bed. “There’d be this whole day of activities laid out for me. Now what do I do?”

Lydia lifts an eyebrow, and an appreciative once over: “I can think of a place to start.”

 

 


End file.
